


Hangin'

by eruriotica (minxiebutt)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, childhood sweethearts to lovers, implied BDSM, relationship rebuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:35:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21781561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minxiebutt/pseuds/eruriotica
Summary: He's gonna get her in the end.
Relationships: Nanaba/Erwin Smith
Kudos: 8





	Hangin'

**Author's Note:**

> [listen](https://open.spotify.com/track/3s7q7sn5DaRtAuOo2ft9BD?si=5DNrgka-QFegyE80vGkV8w)  
> "Don't leave me hangin', I'm coming for you."

He’s  _ right there _ in line behind her at the grocery store on her first night back in the city.

“Mrs. Zacharias,” Erwin greets politely. 

Nanaba holds up her naked left hand and his expression does not change at all between that and the next moment when her name graces his mouth. 

“Nanaba,” he greets instead. 

“I’m sure you’re not surprised to see me back in the city,” Nana says, insecurity getting the best of her and making her snap. They’re all talking about her back where she spent the last several years of her life; they’re all talking about her shame. Here, at least, she knows the chatter does not contain the dirty details. 

“You’re right.” Erwin is just as straightforward as she remembers. “Your mother told my mother who told me that you were moving back.”

“I know why you’re here,” he finally proclaims. She looks at him over the rim of her glass, alcohol-induced good mood still brimming at full force. He’d found her and invited himself over, filling her eager ears with stories instead of asking her the reason for her drinking.

“Here in the city?”

“Here in this club,” Erwin corrects. “You see, there is a certain, secretive platform upon which I am friends with a great number of regular patrons.”

“No,” Nana slips in horror rather than disbelief. 

“And I’ve noticed a new person getting into the crowd.” Erwin unlocks his phone and displays Nana’s profile. “Pretty heavy fetishes you have for such a good church girl.”

She gulps down a little too much of her beverage, grimacing at the rush of tastes. “I don’t believe in that shit anymore, preacher boy.”

His grin is wolffish in undertone, his body language predatory as he leans forward. “Why do you keep insisting that I’m the same as I was when I was eighteen? Because you cannot bear to replace that version of me that you loved so dearly?”

“Fuck off, Erwin,” she snaps. 

“I wonder: what would you let me give you?” Erwin inquires, doing the exact opposite of fucking off. He scrolls, reading, “Abduction? Choking, spanking, slapping… rape fantasy. You once told me that I was the only person worthy of breaking your walls, so what do you want to receive from me?”

She resolutely drinks, refusing to admit defeat to his mocking that is absolutely not mocking in the least because he’s showing a genuine interest in fucking her up the way she wants to be fucked up. The fact that he remembers her words, fifteen and edgy, desperate for intimacy, wanting to bring him inside her shell...

“Maybe when I’m sober,” she mumbles. 

“Are you ever sober these days?” Erwin teases, laced with a concern that is absent of judgement. 

“When I have to be,” Nanaba admits, half-smirking. “It’s no fun.”

“If you were mine I wouldn’t let you run from your thoughts this way.” 

She can’t get a grip on his emotions, unreadable as he is and as inebriated as she is. “Maybe you can tell me what you’d do to me,” she chirps, then self-depreciates, “That way you wouldn’t have to be embarrassed by it tomorrow. I’ll forget it.”

“You’re not that drunk,” Erwin reprimands her down-putting. 

It’s disgustingly deceitful that her mother pressures her into coming for dinner— “You’re just so alone all the time, honey, and that can’t be good for you”— just to drop a company-is-coming bomb on her as soon as she’s had a glass of wine and thus cannot escape back to her apartment. 

Erwin is just as friendly with her mother as she remembers. Nanaba stews on the sofa, third glass in hand, watching the way Erwin helps with dinner preparation. She was probably seventeen the last time she witnessed something like this. But he’s not a spindly growth-spurted adolescent with acne and a too-big nose; she hasn’t opened a Bible in as many years as she’s been gone. 

The parents conveniently sit her next to Erwin at the table and then  _ conveniently _ leave them to do the dishes together, during which Nanaba stiffly pretends that Erwin is not beside her, waiting to do the drying with a delicate dish clothe in his enormous, calloused hands. Hands that would feel so good on her affection-starved skin, the barren plain crying out for rain. Hands that he wants to use to destroy her with the aid of ropes and chains and whips.

When it’s over, he takes hold of her shoulder and asks her, so sincere and honourable, always the honourable Smith son, “If you would rather not see me, I would not be offended.”

She wrenches her body from the grasp she spent the greater part of fifteen minutes fantasising about and hisses, “You don’t fucking get it.”

He gives just as much back, closing the distance, backing her into a wall, the landline right beside her head. Leaning down, Erwin murmurs, “What don’t I  _ fucking _ get, Nana Banana?”

“Don’t you see that I’m holding on for my life?” Nana plants her palms on his firm chest and pushes him back. “One more let down and I swear to God, I will kill myself.”

Erwin stands back where she shoved him, once more completely unreadable. “No, you won’t.”

“Nothing is stopping me,” she sneers, pulling up her sleeve to make him look at the ugly proof of botched coping that she confessed to him the other night. His eyes don’t flick away from her own, but she knows he can see the pink and brown lines through her forearm.

“I’m telling you that you won’t.” Erwin is undeterred by her acting out. “You’ve always listened to me. You’ll listen to me now.”

It’s their secret meeting place, a safe way to see each other without the parents interfering with pointed questions and not-so-gentle nudges. 

“It’s not supposed to be done this way, you know,” Erwin muses. “Unscripted.”

Nanaba shrugs. “Break the rules for me, then. You know my hard limits and that’s what counts.”

He’s not little Erwin Smith from high school, and she’s not the same good girl everyone thought she was. They don’t go to bible study together and sit side by side and share scripture and talk about how  _ wonderful _ it is to be loved by God. They meet near dark rooms in the midst of leather and chains and fornication, and they catch up on years and years lost from one another and get to know the new versions of themselves.

Erwin holds her against the wall right inside of his home, his huge hand so secure on her nape that she’s half-tempted to allow the tension to fall from her body so that those fingers hold her up. Another dinner at her parents’ house and he offered to drop her off, much to her mother’s gladness. If only her mother knew what they were  _ really _ doing.

“You should have never left me,” he growls in possessiveness. She knows he’s right. She had no business running off to college and getting married. She had no business trying to forget the good boy that would have become a good man to her. 

“I’ll make you repent and then I’ll make you mine again.”

When she first became his, they were fifteen and sixteen, and they were pure of heart and starry eyed and devoted to God. 

When she was his, he was so considerate of her boundaries and her desires. 

Sweet salvation, she wants to be his again. She wants to offer him the repentance he demands, she wants him to cleanse her and absolve her of the trespasses she committed. 

“Get on your knees and beg me,” Erwin orders, removing his hand from her body. Instantly, she plummets to a puddle on his floor.

“Please,” she whispers, shamed and embarrassed by his authority, by the way his dominance ensures her submission. He’s always been stronger than her and never once did he use that against her. Not until tonight, at her request, at her willingness to be overpowered. At their mutual willingness to drown together.

He slides his thumb over her knuckles and then turns her hand over so that he can trek over the palm. With great tenderness, he slips his fingers into the spaces, interlacing them, interlocking their hands. He raises that union to his mouth and kisses the seam where they become one. 

“Don’t deny me, my love,” Erwin beseeches, warm breath on her wrist, sore from the last time he tied her. “I’ve been watching the world burn and all I could dream of was a future with you.”

She leans against his arm. “Am I your one that got away?”

Erwin shakes his head and again kisses that seam, slower this time, the tip of his tongue tasting how it feels to rest palm-to-palm. “You’re the one I’m getting in the end.”

It’s so odd that having his fingers between her own is what lights the fire in her belly, when all around them couples or groups are breaking off to indulge in pleasure. Conformity dictates that they play in partially nudity, but they never take their clothes off when they’re learning how to work together for mutual satisfaction, when they’re building back that trust with a new perimeter. But here stands Erwin and it’s been ten years since she broke his heart and it’s been ten years since he told her to follow God’s will when it wasn’t even God’s will but her own selfish desires that she labelled a divine path. 

They are not teenagers but her childish heart beats beneath the confines of bitter adulthood. 

  
  



End file.
